Baker's Delight
by Krivoklatsko
Summary: M for Morgana: Black Magic and burnt cookies.
1. Chapter 1

"Echoes."

"Echoes."

"Echoes" rang out in the halls of justice, responding first to Morgana's whimsical trial, then to each other. She grinned to herself at the attention- friends, at last. She had enjoyed several hours in the hallway outside of Summoner Nashahago's office, admiring the view from the massive windows that served as walls. The Institute of War had quite a view, both from the village below and to it. Morgana shuffled her weight on the plush, pillowed bench lining her side of the hall. The shuffle echoed, satisfying her with its lack of judgment. An echo is a friend to the lonely.

But the door she was waiting by opened, breaking the charm of loneliness and admitting the charm of Noxus. Katarina exited the office of Bob Nashahago angry. It seemed to Morgana that "angry" was Katarina's _modus operandi_, but this was different. Katarina was having a problem with her pride, and violence wouldn't solve it. Morgana offered a consoling hand, only to have Katarina slap it away.

"Don't touch me, freak!"

The Sinister Blade of Noxus had been scorned, and was in no mood to play her usual role as diplomat to outsiders like a fallen angel. Morgana had come to cherish her relationship with Katarina. It was consistent, if nothing else. She watched Katarina leave with the mask of contempt over pity, wondering at the Sinister Blade's swagger- A dancer's grace sullied by self-hatred.

Morgana was torn from the sight by the call of her name. She turned back to the door, an ornate, purple wood, and opened it.

* * *

Morgana screamed. Her entire body was heaving under the effort as unused muscles came to life, pressing new bones through worn skin. Her wings had been growing for months now, and the flesh above them was red and itching at all times. She was warned the time would be soon, but she had not expected it to be so sudden. Scream, heave, split. The first of many tears escaped. Morgana felt the reassuring squeeze on her hand, heard the reassuring voice.

"Told you it's worse than wisdom teeth."

She laughed through a sob.

* * *

Bob Nashahago was a fat bastard. And as he liked to remind everyone he met, he was the _only _Bob Nashahago. Morgana closed the door behind her, ignoring his well rehearsed introduction of himself. She took the seat opposite his over the desk, crossing her legs under the floor-length leather dress that she favored. Her top had been left as a consequence of previous publicity attempts. The local world had a fascination with the female form that outweighed the functionality of clothing. Morgana had never minded exposure at home, and didn't now, but life was never the same without pockets and insulation. The clothing, her bra and dress, was all that had come with her to this world. No: her sister had come- her clothing and her sister.

* * *

"I'll go get-"

"No! Don't tell Kayle."

She gripped his hand, keeping him there with her while she floundered in the grass. A purple sky whirled overhead in slow circles. The cloud would clear soon for two brilliant suns.

In the bushes before her, a butterfly was struggling against its cocoon. Morgana felt another surge of pain as her muscles spasmed out of control, tearing at the skin.

* * *

"Well?"

Summoner Nashahago's sausage-like fingers splayed out on each hand as his arms spread wide. Even the billowing, purple robes he wore couldn't disguise his girth.

"Any suggestions, Morgana?"

Nashahago had been monologuing while she thought. Morgana didn't care to know what about. But the summoner returned to a restful pose, elbow on the arm of his chair, fist under chin, sausage-pinkie extended to mouth for ease of eating. He was waiting for her to answer.

"Exercise," Morgana chided.

Nashahago was unable to comprehend of anyone insulting him. His eyebrow raised suggestively.

"That certainly _would_ make you popular, dear." His all-consuming grin was now as radiant as the turquoise gems on his pinkie ring and head circlet. Fat. Bastard. Morgana did not care for gems or innuendo.

"What were we discussing?" She mumbled, blinking away the discomfort of his attention. Nashahago seemed flustered as well. As a summoner, he was attuned to receiving the unadulterated attention that he couldn't reciprocate. His hands clasped together at the center of his desk.

"Morgana, my dear, esteemed champion. You are not popular."

He tried to balance confidence and humility without feedback from her expression. Morgana was trying to remember a recent league match she hadn't participated in.

"Could you repeat that, Summoner?"

Her legs uncrossed and switched position as they recrossed. Bob Nashahago's smile was tight this time.

"You are not popular. You are banned more often than you are chosen."

He was very disappointed by Morgana's grin, but pressed on.

"Noxus believes that you can be returned to play if your reputation can be restored. Do you understand, Morgana? Rep-u-ta-tion." The pudge on his fingers made soft reports as he clapped them against the desk. Morgana was making quick work of connecting Katarina's unhappiness to Nashahago's implications.

"Do I scare the children?"

She was baring her grin still, amusing herself with his discomfort. Nashahago's sausages danced while he thought. Finger wiggling seemed to help that process.

"We... Noxus needs you to be less intimidating. I like to think of it as 'de-clawing the kitty,' so to speak."

He smiled hopefully. Morgana betrayed a mix of pity and humor.

"You want me to throw a game," she nudged.

Nashahago nearly jumped from his chair.

"No! Never! Of course not! This- this 'de-clawing' would happen solely outside of League-sanctioned competition. Purely aesthetic! Good heavens!"

He finished with a laugh of desperation- then, as an addendum, "Could you think of a way to... _convince_ summoners that you have a softer side?"

* * *

Morgana felt the joy of her wings bursting free. The flayed skin on her back flapped with the new appendages. Muscles stretched. Pain gave way to pleasure. Feathers brushed against her wounds. She cried out, falling forwards and landing safely in his arms. She reached her face to his. Her first kiss and the next few days were a blur. She stood in the ancient gardens and spun in the sun, brilliant white feathers reflecting beautiful rays around her. They would spin together, her with him, until they were too dizzy to stand. Glowing roses and flowing honey mixed with lush grass and an explosion of newborn butterflies.

* * *

Nashahago clapped impatiently, feigning something. He seemed to be trying to pass it off as a thoughtful gesture. _Look at me thinking._

"I'm already traipsing around in a dress and a bra, Summoner."

Morgana scowled.

Nashahago's face seemed struck with inspiration. His maw unhinged to spew forth the idea.

"No," Morgana interrupted.

Nashahago shrugged in an attempt to be persuasive.

"Nidalee wears-"

"No."

Morgana's scowl had now cemented itself. Nashahago, wisely fearing the end of her patience, conceded the point.

"How about an interview, then? Katarina agreed to one just a moment ago."

Nashahago thrummed his fat fingers against each other in another thoughtful gesture. Morgana shifted her weight uneasily.

"About what?"

She felt the slight prod at her mind that accompanied a summoner's curiosity. Nashahago's mind felt the sharp zap of a denial.

"Don't test me, Summoner."

Morgana's contract was signed on the promise of her sister's blood. Otherwise, she might have committed another murder on the spot. Nashahago seemed to recognize this. He had made a very serious mistake. Morgana stood to leave, her leather dress turning footsteps into a smooth glide accentuated by the sway of her hips. The distraction was too much for Nashahago, and she made it to the door before his stammering became a coherent, "w-w-w-wai- your sister!"

* * *

The spinning had made them too dizzy to stand. So there they lay, in the garden of an ancient race, eyes betraying the longing of the young and old, of the ephemeral and permanent, of the angel and the infinite life ahead of her, and of her human friend. No: her human lover. Morgana reached a hand to his cheek. He reached a hand to hers. They kissed; A simple gesture to some- heresy heralding war to others. Another girl, another angel, saw. Kayle could hardly keep a secret.

* * *

Morgana's hand curled and swirled in the beginning of a somatic curse, readying a spell to sling at Nashahago. She stayed facing the door, waiting for his explanation. Nashahago spoke fast.

"Your sister was already interviewed. She's very popular. She says terrible things about you, it's good to tell your side of the story, and there aren'-"

Morgana's hand waived dismissively, a gesture that Nashahago mistook for her intent to release the spell. Morgana's hand uncurled, and the magic dissipated.

"Fine," she turned to him. "Let's set the record straight."


	2. Chapter 2

Baker's Delight: Chapter 2

Morgana coughed into a Zaunite mechanism that was supposed to capture her speech. It echoed instead, and her cough filled her ears. She lifted Hextech headphones from her head and scowled across the room.

Opposite her at the table was Summoner Lessa Carin, her blonde robes hiding any color hair. She sat cross-legged with nothing more than professional lips showing under her hood.

"You don't have to wear those," Carin murmured.

So she didn't.

Morgana's posture matched Carin's formality as a show of respect. She would have objected to being cramped into such a small and strange room with anyone else, but she had respect for this Demacian. Lessa Carin was the only female summoner she knew, after all. And she had grown weary of the influence so many necromancers and pyromancers had on her mind. Carin's robes bore the Sigil of Revival on either shoulder. And her mind did not probe where it was not welcome.

They had been sitting across from each other like this for several minutes when another voice broke their silence.

"Two minutes," was called over a brass speaker near the roof.

Summoner Carin removed her hood and met Morgana's eyes without shadows.

"I didn't get to choose the questions."

She had nothing to apologize for, so her tone was not apologetic. But Morgana heard the warning between her words, and nodded her thanks.

"I hear you had to endure Nashahago," Carin continued.

Morgana nodded. An empathetic smile was shared in a moment of silence.

"_One minute_," over the speaker.

"At least they didn't give you a romantic interest," Lessa consoled.

She answered Morgana's questioning look with surprise.

"Katarina and Garen. You know, those trashy periodicals Summoner Latsko keeps writing. Loco something?"

She eyed Morgana's surprise with incredulity. The fallen angel's head shook.

"I thought they were a couple now."

Morgana didn't like being lied to, but she liked Lessa's correction.

"Romance is popular, so their romance was made popular. Only it doesn't exist. They would probably kill each other if we didn't have restraining protocols on them. It's a hoax, a complete fabrication."

"Smoke and mirrors," Morgana summarized.

Lessa grinned at the dark humor.

"Exactly. But the League lives on popularity. If we don't introduce new champions every few weeks, change the rules a bit, start romances- without this, we're boring. And as soon as we lose the crowds, we lose the nations."

Carin sighed while Morgana finished, "Another Rune War."

"Exactly."

"_Ten seconds_."

Carin straightened from her relaxed posture, and adjusted the Hextech microphone before her. Morgana sat closer to hers, and brushed a lock of purple hair over the back of her shoulders.

"_Five, four, three..."_

Carin waited an extra beat before speaking in a well rehearsed tone that she would never wear in private.

"Welcome, Summoners! You asked for it, and we have provided. It isn't often that we get to hear the secret thoughts of an enigmatic Outsider Champion, especially one of another species- and I can assure you those thoughts can be terrifying coming from the Prophet Malzahar or Cho'Gath, the Terror of the Void. But tonight, we have a guest that can pique your interest without destroying your mind."

Her accent faltered on the last line, turning from artificially chipper to legitimately hopeful. In her next sentence, it became pain.

"Get ready, Summoners. It's time for Ask Morgana! First question, Morgana: We know you're a powerful sorceress from another world, but how _do_ you keep your bra up?"

Lessa Carin's smile was as forced as her participation. It did not reach her eyes.

"_Magic_," Morgana hissed back.

Lessa Carin had not chosen that question. She had not chosen any of the words on her list. Morgana could guess who had. Everything Summoner Nashahago touched was marked with the stains of his greasy sweat. Morgana had watched Katarina Du Couteau storm out of his office just two weeks ago, and now she was running around Summoner's Rift dressed as a feline prostitute. Morgana shouldn't have expected better treatment. She just hadn't expected brutality.

She hadn't expected that Lessa Carin could be the mouth of such foul words for an entire hour.

She hadn't expected to have her motivations and wants ignored.

* * *

She hadn't expected blood. Humans bleed, she remembered. When the Judicator's sword swung, she had blocked it with a wing. Each feather ignited like her love. But when the tip reached him, there was no smoke or fire. There was no dispelling of immortality. His body was not crafted by gods. Blood followed the slash and boiled under the weapon's heat. She couldn't remember his face or his name. She knew it had been forbidden to love him. She knew she had loved him anyways.

The only memory they had left her of him was that blood. Everything else was surroundings around his silhouette. They had caught the lock of hair he gave her. They had erased the present he gave her. But the blood remained. The blood was personal. It was part of him. Blood was life to humans, and she had seen his end in fire. She felt it. Or maybe it was her own blood boiling.

* * *

"Morgana?"

"My favorite Summoner? It's you, of course, Lessa."

Two fake laughs echoed over the discarded headphones. The Hextech logo flickered with mirth.

"Now that we've gotten to know you a little better, I want to try and dig into those deep questions that really get our listeners. Are you ready to share your darkest secrets?"

Lessa nodded for Morgana to answer yes.

"Without Mercy," she cooed.

A Summoner named Laitwell had designed everything she wore on Summoner's Rift, including her accent and lines. The clever reference sparkled in Carin's eyes, and Morgana felt for a moment that she had an ally in the Summoner- or at least someone to share in her torment.

"Ohhh! Very eager! We like that about our champions. Alright. Now this question comes from Summoner K. K. Latsko. 'Dear Morgana, what do you think of the relationship between Garen Crownguard of Demacia and Katarina Du Couteau of Noxus? In your experience, can forbidden love bloom?'"

Summoner Carin's eyes rolled into Morgana's. But she did not find mutual disgust. Forbidden love had struck Morgana in a direction that was more personal than intended.

"Forbidden love," she thought aloud.

And forgetting that she was a character to the League- that she was to conform to speech patterns and slogans, that she was to answer, not ask- she responded with a question of her own.

"Forbidden love. Who forbids love?"

When Lessa Carin failed to stammer an answer in time, it was not her that Morgana saw. Looking into Carin's eyes, she saw the fools that had written her words.

"What self-righteous, self-appointed, self-assured, self-important excuse for a moral person would think they had that _right_? Love is not a thing to be forbidden-"

"Well, it is just speculation-"

"Love is not a thing to be slandered, Summoner Nashahago!"

Morgana the Fallen- Morgana the League approved Character- had given way to Morgana the Scorned.

"Only a tyrant- self appointed, with morals that cannot be called in to question, with a monopoly on the right to commit violence, with the armor of chastity and the sword of ignorance, and the blazing fires of fear in her eyes would do such a thing! Kayle was a tyrant with the resources to remove memories, with the backing to commit genocide and eugenics, and with the will to stop at nothing until the universe had been purged of everything inconvenient to her moral assumptions, and _even she _acknowledged her own guilt! How dare you humans forbid love?"

A human's blood had boiled, a human Morgana had loved; and then her blood had boiled; and then her tongue had boiled. And now she was sitting across from the writer of those words she had hated. Lessa Carin never got to finish her broadcast. The Hextech equipment was turned off before Morgana could fully explain exactly what she thought of the League, of Valoran, or of her Sister. She had been restrained by the emergency system, locked up within her own body, and finally delivered to the holding cells that the jester and the fire demon were so fond of.

But now she found herself sitting across from Summoner Nashahago. His fat, fidgety fingers played across the desk as if he knew an instrument and was just itching to use it again. The tune was "Look at me tinkering" by the one and only.

"Whatever are we to do with you," he mused.

She felt the slide of his mind over hers, and struggled to force him back. Nashahago seemed put out by the resistance.

"Ah," he sighed.

"You didn't help your image with that bizarre stunt. Going off on poor Lessa Carin like that was very rude. She was trying to be your friend, you know."

Morgana's scowl did not need to be sharpened. She had no thoughts left to share.

"I did as you asked, Summoner."

"No, darling- my dear, darling, Morgana. I asked you to make yourself less threatening."

He smiled as if she would accept it.

"Crowds like redemption, Morgana. Do you understand? Re-demp-tion."

Thump, thump, thump. Ugh.

"People want to see characters change. They want Good to become corrupted, and Evil to see the light. They want to see enemies become lovers, and lovers split in fury. Do you see? You are a _fallen_ angel. You need to show our viewers- our summoners especially- that you are trying to regain your lost happiness."

Nashahago knew nothing or everything about what he was saying. Either was disgusting.

"Morgana, you need to show the good people of Valoran that you are ready to rejoin society as a peaceful person. We have already been generous enough to teach you our customs and provide you with a League Passport, good in any nation- but you threw all of that in our face on the Wardcast. You need to show us that you want to be a member of society. Try taking up an activity that's domestic, something common to women here. Warfare is more of a male profe-"

Her wingspan did not fit comfortably in most offices, but she suddenly saw fit to make the _office_ try and fit _her_. The Judicator's sword had burned away her feathers and scarred her to her bones. These were not the proud wings of her race. These were bones and scars. These were ugly, and charred, and all she had left of the happiness that Nashahago spoke of.

"I am not one of your common women, Summoner."

Her wings spasmed, tearing paintings and paint from the walls. But she did not have the same power to threaten him as she had carried a few weeks prior. Nashahago only smiled and stared at the discrete mark just under her ear.

"Still on probation, sweetie. The League can't have you acting out like that in public. Now retract your wings and sit properly, please."

An arcane snap to her spine accompanied his request, and Morgana struggled through the pain to comply.

"Now, now," he chortled.

"That's much better. The League's generosity has not ended. We have decided to purchase a business for you in Noxus to help ease you into society. It's very near Katarina, in fact. I hear the two of you have made fast friends. She will be watching over you as a guardian to help with any questions of etiquette while you integrate into healthy relationships. Do enjoy yourself."

Nashahago smiled, no longer forcing it all the way to his dimples. He didn't need to make a shallow attempt at persuasion now that she was on a leash.

She had no choice left in the matter. Morgana saw her options dwindling before her eyes as the league discarded her deals in favor of Kayle's. A line of new champions would enter, one every two weeks, and the league would forget the old as they trumped and hyped and empowered the newcomers. She had been used up, and now she was being thrown out with the trash.

"What kind of business?"

Her question carried more trepidation now than pride.

Nashahago smiled. He must have chosen the business. In that smile, she saw he would be her first customer. He would expect her to serve him, and well. He was using his power to gain more. But the fat bastard wouldn't answer.

"What kind of business?" she repeated.

Nashahago waved goodbye with those fat, pudgy, greasy, sausage-fingers. He wouldn't answer. The bastard wouldn't say a thing. She saw the blood spraying behind the arc of a sword. She saw it boiling. Her wings flared to block it.

"Answer me, damnit! What kind-"

An arcane snap rocked her spine. Her limbs failed. Her eyes fell closed.

And in the briefest moment, a sealed memory was released.

The present was a book of recipes.


End file.
